


tomorrow won't be kind

by novelized



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Cake, F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome, WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novelized/pseuds/novelized
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time Gale has to force himself to acknowledge the fact that there are three of them, and he should say no, he should leave, but if this is the only way he can have Katniss --</p><p>It's better than nothing at all.</p><p>(threesome fic, set during catching fire. the prompt was "frosting.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	tomorrow won't be kind

 

 

> _It's weird for me, being in conversations with both Peeta and Gale, but they seem to have set aside whatever issues they have about me._
> 
> _One night, as I'm walking Gale back into town, he even admits, "It'd be better if he were easier to hate."_                             [ Catching Fire ]

  

At one point in his life, Katniss was his. It was undeclared -- she balked at the idea of marriage, at the concept of forever and commitment and of settling down -- but it was known. In The Hob, the rare dark mornings he'd go without her, they'd say, "where's your pretty little girlfriend, then?" in a sly sort of way, and even his mom would tease him, would smile at him from under her eyelashes whenever he'd so much as say her name.

But the Capitol ripped that away from him. Ripped her away from him. Like everything in his life.

Peeta's not a bad guy. He knows that objectively, knows that it could be worse.

But Gale has never been good at sharing.

He'd rather not start now.

\--

It'd be easier, miles underground, to turn his brain off while he works. To mindlessly do his job, mindlessly spend twelve hours a day over backbreaking labor, but his brain doesn't work that way. He used to bite his tongue and then wait until he was in the woods with Katniss, the only times when he could actually speak his mind, without fear of consequence or torture or an agonizing death at the hands of the Peacekeepers, but he doesn't get those anymore. He only gets to hunt on Sundays, and even then, things are different. She's different.

Instead he spends his twelve hour days thinking about the things he wishes he could say to her, things he would never actually say to her, and he goes home with a grittiness between his teeth that, no matter how many times he brushes, he can't entirely scrub away.

\--

Peeta stops by his house one night.

Gale answers the door and looks at him, silently, observes his clean clothes and his freshly-washed face. There's an inch of grime coating his own skin -- he'd rinse himself off, but he has to be in the mine in six hours, and what's the point? Peeta holds two loaves of bread out, but Gale doesn't reach for them. He doesn't take charity.

"They're for your family," Peeta says. "They just finished baking. They're still warm."

"I wasn't aware we ordered any," Gale answers, and he doesn't say it rudely, but Peeta's neck still goes a little pink. Like maybe he hadn't planned this out. Like maybe being nice wasn't some sort of premeditated action, maybe it just came naturally. Gale wouldn't know what that was like.

"You didn't," Peeta says, finally. "But I made extra and I thought you'd like to have it."

How nice, Gale thinks, to be afforded that luxury. (How sad that its cost was murder.) They'd had a meager dinner tonight. Rory had spent ten minutes scraping his fork along his plate, as if that would magically generate more food. He takes the bread and hates himself for it. "Thank you," he says stiffly.

"Sure." Peeta turns to leave; Gale catches him by the arm.

"Did Katniss send you?" he asks, can't help but ask, and Peeta meets his eyes for a brief flickering second before he looks away.

"No," he says, "she doesn't even know I'm here."

He shrugs his arm away and leaves, back towards the Victor's Village, towards his big house. Towards Katniss. Gale watches him for so long that by the time he closes the door, the loaves in his hands have cooled.

\--

"What can I do to help?" he asks Katniss, lowly.

She turns to look at him like she's not sure if he's kidding; that he's volunteering his services, that he's putting aside what time he does have to do a favor for her and, mostly, for him.

"You could teach us snares," she says. She is incredibly striking and beautiful like this, when she hasn't been mutilated by those freaks at the Capitol; Gale doesn't know why he's spent so much time not telling her.

He doesn't tell her now, either. He just nods.

\--

Katniss is quick to learn with the snares. Haymitch isn't bad, though he's lost whatever deftness and agility he'd once had. Peeta's pretty much a lost cause. That first day, Gale goes to check on him and Peeta wrinkles his nose all sheepishly, a poorly-assembled contraption in hand, and Gale laughs startlingly loud. The laughter surprises all of them. It echoes around the trees and there's a strange silence in its wake. But then, the corners of his mouth twitching up, Peeta starts laughing too. Katniss joins in a second later, and even Haymitch allows a few chuckles, and Gale can't remember the last time he laughed like this, at something simple and easy.

Things are different after that.

\--

"I feel like I should return the favor somehow," Peeta says, shortly after his first successful snare. They'd celebrated the occasion with a five minute sit-down, an unusual break in their schedules. "But I don't know what I could possibly teach you."

"Knowing how to bake bread doesn't do much in the Seam," Katniss agrees. She folds a blade of grass between her fingers. Gale doesn't miss the way Peeta sneaks glances at her when he thinks she isn't looking. He figures that Peeta's probably caught him doing it, too.

"You could show me how to frost a cake," Gale says thoughtfully.

The other two look at him, confused.

He shrugs, unconsciously snaps a stick he'd been holding in half. "It's gotten you this far in life," he says. "I don't know -- nevermind."

"No," Peeta interrupts. Katniss looks in between the two of them wordlessly. "It's not -- I mean, I can show you. I've got the stuff at my house. It's easier than it looks."

"No it's not," Katniss says, a touch defensively. Gale's not even sure who she's defending him from but it pulls at his stomach, uncomfortably. Annoyingly.

He licks his lips and doesn't look at either of them. "Okay," he says. "Let's go."

\--

He would've never pictured this. Them. Crowded around a cake in Peeta's kitchen (his too-nice kitchen; he's only visited Katniss at her new place once, other than when her mom had taken care of his back post-whipping, because he'd stepped into the same exact kitchen and felt immediately sick, bile crawling up his windpipe at how new and clean and nice it all was, and he knew that it probably bothered Katniss too, so he didn't say anything, couldn't say anything).

No one's said a word since they walked in. It was funny, watching Peeta to get to work. He was much more adroit with his hands than his snare-making skills had proved. He'd rolled his sleeves up, all business, grabbed things from here and there, had to stop and backtrack a time or two, like maybe he's not that used to the new place either.

Katniss had swung herself up onto one of the counters, easier, more relaxed than he was used to seeing her. Her heels bang against the cabinets every so often, and she doesn't offer to help. Just watches. He watches Katniss watch Peeta until he can't stand it anymore, and then he rolls his own sleeves up to his elbows and steps in. Peeta looks at him and almost-grins, hands him a tube of frosting. Even now, Gale can't think but how stupidly wasteful it is. Pure sugar. No nutritional value at all. This is one way the Capital celebrates, overindulging in unnecessary food while the rest of Panem starves. He doesn't know why he suggested this.

"The trick," Peeta says, and he sounds a little unsure of himself, like maybe he's noticed the way Gale is glaring at the tube, "is to spread it evenly over the top. I use this --" he holds up some weird sort of tool, something that would do nothing to an opponent on the battlefield, and he imagines Peeta going back into the arena wielding these useless contraptions, wouldn't that be a laugh "-- to make sure it's smooth."

"Yeah, okay," Gale says, and when Peeta gestures for him to try it, he gives the tube a light squeeze. It comes rushing out faster than he'd anticipated and then there's a giant glob of frosting sitting on the freshly-baked cake, pretty much the exact opposite of what he'd just said. "Shit," he says, but he smiles a little -- doesn't know why he's smiling, where this is coming from, and Peeta flashes him a real-grin.

"It's fine. Here." He presses the tool into Gale's palm, then covers the back of his hand with his own, shows him how to spread it out in one clean stroke. Gale looks up and silently meets Katniss's eyes. She doesn't smile, but she ducks her head a little. He's spent a long time feeling sorry for himself, but he's never really put himself in her shoes. She has to choose. She has to choose between them, because she can't have both.

(There's a possibility, he thinks, that she could have neither -- she's a marked woman. He knows that. Doesn't make him want her any less.)

Peeta guides his hand along the cake, and then Katniss hops down from the counter and joins them. "You're doing it wrong," she says seriously, and they stop and look at her. "Let me do it."

She snatches the tube of frosting and squeezes some into her hand. Gale quirks an eyebrow at her, but before he can open his mouth, she reaches forward and smears it right across Peeta's face. He gapes at her. "Much better," she announces, and then she turns to Gale.

"Oh no you don't, Catnip," he says, and catches her wrist. She flips the tube up, though, catches it with her free hand, and spreads a thin line along his cheekbone before he has time to even think. Her reflexes are incredible.

"Do you realize," Peeta says, wiping some of the frosting off his chin, "that you're outnumbered?"

Gale had never considered himself on the same team as Peeta, but Peeta gestures to her free arm and Gale reaches for it, pins her back against his body, and she's struggling against him but Peeta reaches in and wrenches the frosting out of her hand. He squeezes just a little out onto his pointer finger, and then he smiles and smears it slowly in a straight line down the bridge of her nose.

She elbows Gale in the gut -- not hard, just hard enough to catch him off guard, make him let go -- and then she grabs a different tube of frosting, tears the lid off with her teeth, and tightens her grip around the bottle so it comes flying out, lands in a mess all over Peeta's shoulder.

After that, it's an all-out brawl.

Gale loses sight of himself, has no idea what he's doing here, why he's smashing an entire handful of frosting into Peeta's face and laughing, why Katniss is cramming it down the collar of his shirt, but three minutes later it's everywhere, all over his face, his arms, his clothing. They look ridiculous.

"We look ridiculous," Peeta says, and he scoops his arms around Katniss, picks her up easily -- he's strong, stronger than he looks maybe -- and clamps his frosting-covered hand over her mouth. She either licks his palm or bites it because he laughs and lets go quickly, and then she's turning in his arms, and then, just like that, they're kissing.

It seems accidental at first; her nose nudges his, their cheeks press together, she's aiming for the icing on his jaw, but then their lips touch, and they don't pull away quickly enough, and Gale's stomach plunges. He's seen them kiss before. On television. In the arena. But never this close. Never this intimately. The laughter of the last five minutes dies right in his throat, and he turns to leave.

Katniss pulls away quickly. "Gale, wait --" she says, sounding a little flustered, a little confused.

He looks back over his shoulder. Purposely doesn't look at Peeta. He doesn't want to see the expression on his face. Katniss slides out of Peeta's grip and takes two unsteady steps towards him.

"I get it," he says, quietly. "You've chosen."

She shakes her head. "No," she says, "I haven't."

And then -- his brain is working on some sort of sugar-infused delay, because he would've stopped her otherwise. (Wouldn't he?) She takes another step in and then she's reaching for him, and his hands gravitate to her waist, like that's what they're meant to do, and she reaches up and swipes the pad of her thumb along his lower lip, and he tastes the saltiness of her skin and the sweetness of the frosting, and then, closing her eyes, she leans in and presses her lips against his.

It's only the second time they've ever kissed, but it's right, it's natural, this is what's supposed to happen, and he's tightening his arms around her and kissing her hard, maybe harder than he's ever kissed anyone in his life.

From behind them, Peeta clears his throat.

This time, Gale does look at him. His face is drawn and unhappy, and Gale feels no satisfaction whatsoever. No smugness. This doesn't feel like a win. Katniss meets his eyes, and he licks his lips, doesn't know where they go from here. If there's anywhere they can go. Katniss sucks in a quiet breath and then, slowly, reaches out for Peeta.

He steps forward like he can't help it. Katniss is still pressed flush against Gale's body, and he doesn't know if he's feeling her heartbeat or his own, but it's the first time he's felt it in awhile, first time he's actually felt alive, maybe since the whipping, maybe since Prim's name was drawn at the Reaping, and then suddenly Peeta's close, too close, close enough that he can smell warm bread and see a tiny smudge of frosting clinging to his eyelashes, and Katniss is drawing him even closer, and then they're kissing again, inches away from his face.

It's not -- not repulsive like it should be, even though his heart is hammering against his chest now, he's not disgusted seeing her lips move against his, and maybe it's the imminency of death, the despair of their predicaments, he doesn't know, but he's not pulling away. Suddenly there's a hand around his wrist and the fingers aren't slim like Katniss's, but he can't tear his gaze away from her face to check.

She pulls away just a little and lets out a shuddery breath against Peeta's lips, and then her eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. "Is this..." she starts, her voice lower than normal, "is this okay?"

And for the first time Gale has to force himself to acknowledge the fact that there are three of them, and he should say no, he should leave, but if this is the only way he can have Katniss --

"Yes," he says without meaning to, and even Peeta looks surprised by that.

But he hastens to agree. "I'm -- yeah," he says. "Me too."

And then Gale's drawing Katniss in for another kiss. His eyes are closed so he doesn't see Peeta step in closer, but he can hear the shuffle of his feet, can practically feel the heat radiating from him, and when Katniss gasps a little into his mouth he forces himself to look and he's pressing soft and slow kisses against the exposed part of her neck, licking the frosting right from her skin.

Katniss's hand curls around Gale's chin, and then she's guiding him forward, looking a little sure, a little determined, and then she's doing the same to Peeta, so their faces are right next to each other, Katniss's body wedged between. Like she's been for the last six months. In the middle.

Gale has never felt anything remarkably strong towards Peeta -- in the arena, maybe, he hated him for doing what he'd never gotten to do, but back home, he's too nice to hate. He wishes that he weren't.

He loves Katniss. He does, and he has for a long time; he's known that, doesn't know why he hadn't ever said it. (He does know. He was afraid of scaring her off.) And isn't loving someone doing what they want you to do? Doing whatever you could to make them happy? If the only way to love Katniss was to share her -- he thinks that's better than nothing, and his mouth crashes against Peeta's clumsy, messy, because that's what she wants him to do.

It's not terrible. It's not great, but it's not completely unlike kissing a girl -- Peeta's lips aren't chapped like his, doesn't have much stubble, and even though there's no emotion behind this kiss Katniss lets out another shaky breath that shoots straight down his spine, sends electric shocks through his body, makes the arm on his hair stand straight. Peeta kisses him again, and again, and then Katniss dips her fingers under Gale's shirt and he groans, quiet and needy, and accidentally bites down on Peeta's lower lip.

They kiss frantically after that, some combination of the three of them, and he likes it best when he's kissing Katniss but when he's not, and she's kissing Peeta, he finds other things to do with his mouth, just as good things, like pushing her braid back away from her shoulder and trailing kisses along the delicate curve of her neck. She starts to shove Gale's shirt up and then Peeta's hands are there too, helping, drawing it over his shoulders and dropping it on the too-nice kitchen floor, and then she's touching him, the way he's wanted her to touch him since he was sixteen and began to think distantly in future tense. Peeta's shirt goes next and then, thankfully, Katniss's, and for a second the two of them just look at her, drink in the sight of her, before she pulls them back into action and they're kissing and touching and the frosting has smeared into their hair, their ears, Gale ducks his head and licks some off the corner of Katniss's mouth, and then all of a sudden she's twining her fingers into Peeta's, and his stomach does another sort of pathetic swoop, but she's doing it for a reason: she guides them, both hands, towards the waistband of Gale's pants.

Uncertainty flickers over Peeta's face but, to his credit, he doesn't pull away. He does, however, bury his forehead against Katniss's bare shoulder, and Gale doesn't even care, thinks he might actually put a stop to things now, but then two hands wrap around him and a throaty moan escapes, unhindered. They're all pushing at articles of clothing after that, whatever's remaining, and it's improper and inappropriate and there is still so much frosting everywhere, but they don't care. They kiss and touch and kiss like it's the last time they'll ever get to do so, and Gale thinks to himself that he has never loved Katniss more.

\--

Afterwards, they get dressed and halfheartedly clean up the mess they've made, and they don't speak, navigate around each other wordlessly, a sort of heaviness hanging in the air. But they occasionally bump shoulders and they flash each other the ghosts of smiles, like they're okay, or as okay as they can be.

Eventually they give up and they sit down, right on the kitchen floor, and Peeta cuts them a slice of cake that looks disastrous but tastes amazing, rich and indulgent, and Gale doesn't think about the Capitol. They pass the plate back and forth, between the three of them, and Gale thinks that maybe it's never too late in life to learn how to share.

\--

Katniss and Peeta go back into the arena.

Gale doesn't even get to say goodbye.


End file.
